


Write the Story of My Past

by AmaranteReikaChan



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 11:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1303639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmaranteReikaChan/pseuds/AmaranteReikaChan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He pivoted on his heel, long coat billowing behind him, fully prepared to continue his irritated tirade when the words died in his mouth. Sitting harmlessly under the archway to the Encyclopaedia section stood a metal lectern that he knew for a fact had never been there before. Resting atop of it was a large leather-bound book.</p><p>Before he even registered his movements he was standing in front of it. All his sensations halted as he read the words.</p><p>'The History of the Time War'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Write the Story of My Past

**Author's Note:**

> When Journey to the Centre of the TARDIS aired the Time War book Clara found really irked me. The Doctor was pretty much the only survivor of the Time War (that was known about at the time) and thus, was the main contender for who wrote it. I never could believe he would do that, let alone put his name in it.
> 
> So, after watching the Day of the Doctor, this happened.

It nagged at him relentlessly, that is when he allowed himself to dwell on the events of that day, which – given the tendency of the Doctor to run and forget – wasn’t very often. The times he did permit himself to remember he became submerged in the guilt and self-loathing of it all. The way Clara had nearly died, how in all his frustration he had managed to frighten her so much, the fact that he let the TARDIS _explode_.

He never showed Clara how to pilot the TARDIS again after that. Because she couldn’t remember any of it, she never understood why he always said no when she asked. The Doctor knew it wasn’t worth the risk of there ever being a repeat occurrence.

Anytime he allowed his thoughts to travel back, her words haunted him, gnawing away at the back of his mind. The book on the Time War. A book he’d never even known existed. And in it, his _name_.

He didn’t understand what Clara had been talking about and he found, as usual, he hated not knowing. He had no idea what the book was, slightly concerning given that other than a few Daleks he was the only survivor of the Time War (although that was now debatable, but he still wasn’t certain he’d actually saved them).

He knew for fact he hadn’t made any book and he highly doubted it was something he was going to do in his future. As a result the thought of who did write it always bothered him. Sometimes he considered the TARDIS may have produced it, but he could never make any sense as to why she might do that. There was only one other possibility that ever crossed his mind.

River.

She was the only person beside himself with enough knowledge of the Time War to even consider documenting the happenings of it. From her own research and from all the bitty details he’d only ever divulged to her. Being a boring archaeologist she liked doing things like write manuscripts, ‘preserving history’ as she calls it. So it really was a solid possible explanation.

Regardless, he couldn’t bring himself to believe she did it either.

It was a mystery. A mystery book. The Doctor had never seen it for himself, only knew that Clara had (and subsequently forgot, thankfully). Despite searching for it many times he’d never found it. He was half convinced that _if_ it even existed the TARDIS was hiding it from him.

After living through the events of the Time War again with two of his younger selves (and actually remembering this time) his urge to find the book was sparked once more, stronger than it ever had been before. It wasn’t just a half-hearted whim, it was now a _need_.

The problem was he had no idea where to start looking.

A good place to start seemed like the rooms that contained books – it would be easiest to conceal it within one of those. Unfortunately there happened to be over one hundred rooms in the TARDIS containing books.

He tried the library – the big one with a courtyard in it and a ceiling that stretched so high you couldn’t see the end – not the small one that had nothing useful in it, full only of soppy romance novels and other such boring books that his companions liked to read. He avoided that library like the plague.

He didn’t find it in the big library so, much to his disgust, he had to try the small one. No luck there either.

It wasn’t in the main drawing room nor was it in River’s personal drawing room, sitting room, or her dull archaeologist’s hub (that woman had too many private rooms, those weren’t even near half of them). Neither was it in any of his previous companions’ bedrooms. He only looked in those that he knew liked to read, but even that was too many as each brought its own wave of guilt.

So desperate was he, he even checked his _own_ bedroom.

Hours, possibly even days, later he had exhausted every avenue he could think of. He had also exhausted himself. Propped up against the wall of the corridor he was in, he turned a pleading eye to the ceiling.

“Come on old girl, help me find it.”

The wall the Doctor was leaning against opened up and he stumbled, falling through the doorway and landing on his back. Looking up, he saw he was in the library.

The big one, with the courtyard.

Where he had _begun_ his quest.

With a disgruntled growl and unimpressed huff, he arose from the floor, glaring at the ship around him.

“You are incredibly _rude_. You made me search one hundred and seventeen rooms!”

He pivoted on his heel, long coat billowing behind him, fully prepared to continue his irritated tirade when the words died in his mouth. Sitting harmlessly under the archway to the Encyclopaedia section stood a metal lectern that he knew for a fact had never been there before. Resting atop of it was a large leather-bound book.

Before he even registered his movements he was standing in front of it. All his sensations halted as he read the words.

_‘The History of the Time War’_

With an unsteady hand he stroked the cover, reverently tracing a fingertip over each engraved letter. He realised he wasn’t breathing and could feel his hearts pounding so hard they were nearly in his throat. His legs started to give way beneath him. He only just made it across the carpet to collapse into the reading chair situated next to an arched window overlooking the garden courtyard.

Sliding Amy’s reading glasses on with shaking hands he inhaled slowly to steady his racing hearts. He barely managed to open the cover he was so nervous. His vision was met with an entire page full of familiar handwriting.

“You little…” He threw his head back, smiling – an odd mixture of exasperation, affection and awe that only the Doctor could pull off, and only when thinking of her. “River Song, what am I going to do with you?”

The manuscript started off by describing the circumstances and actions that led to the beginning of the war. All things he knew like the back of his hands, and he’s had many of them so that’s saying something.

Not wanting to torment himself with reliving the memories and emotions of that time he decided to skip ahead.

As much as he hadn’t expected River to have written the book, what he hadn’t expected more was some of the details. He stiffened, his hand hovering after the words jumped out at him while he was flicking through the pages.

Things she should never have known.

 _The three Doctors_.

He’d told River about the Time War (at least, what he’d thought had happened at the time), when she was young and wanted to know about his past. He had even shown her some of his memories – only a very few short visions, they were always incredibly painful. He also knew she had done research of her own, reading up on all that the literature had to say while she was studying for her doctorate.

He had never once considered – she knew.

_She knew._

The book slipped from his fingers and nearly fell to the floor. All his surroundings seemed to slow down, his breathing weighing on his chest. He swore his hearts stopped momentarily.

But really, he berated himself, he should have guessed it. Of course she knew, River omniscient Song always knew. _Everything_.

No wonder the TARDIS never allowed him to find it.

The Doctor didn’t know how long he sat there, frozen, his mind whizzing through a million thoughts. All the _implications_. What, when, _how_.

“You mad, impossible woman.” He turned his attention back to the book and continued reading, skimming over the words, occasionally skipping ahead a few pages, all the while grinning like a fool.

It spoke of wars and fighting, death and destruction, one man prepared to end it all, the Moment, three versions of the one man deciding there was always a way out, a choice.

It talked of hope and future.

It spoke of nothing that he had ever told her about his actions during the Last Great Time War.

He became entranced by the words, soaking them all up with an insatiable hunger. It didn’t matter that he already knew, that he had lived it. The written word was like stone, solidifying and tangible. _Concrete_.

A while later, short or long he was unsure, completely lost in time, he was startled out of his concentration by the unmistakable sound of the TARDIS brakes. He blinked.

They had just landed.

He hadn’t set her commands to take them anywhere. Another of the TARDIS’s whims, then.

He had a sneaking suspicion where they might have landed. Admittedly, it wasn’t so much a suspicion as it was wishful thinking.

He closed the book and leapt up from the chair, taking off with it firmly in his hand. He discovered the TARDIS had moved the library just down the hall from the console.

As he neared the doorway he slowed, peering around to find River’s back facing him. She was wearing a familiar burgundy ball gown, one that told him exactly where she was in her timeline, with her hair teased into a loose bun, as she fiddled with the controls.

Grinning, he kissed the cover of her book, tiptoed in and silently set it down on a ledge behind the staircase closest to him. Once that was done he purposefully made as much noise as possible to catch her attention, jumping onto the stairs with a loud thud.

River spun around, her full skirt sashaying around her. She smiled at him, a flirtatious and crooked smile that made him even giddier.

“Hi honey, I’m home.”

“That’s my line. But I’ll let it slide,” there was an elaborate pause both in his words and his swaggering up the stairs, he added, “ _today_.”

Her smile only widened. “Wouldn’t expect you to indulge me.”

“I believe happy birthday is in order.” He stopped at the top of the stairs, hands clasped behind his back and rolling onto his heels. Although he wanted nothing more than to squeeze her until she couldn’t breathe and snog her senseless, he made no move to approach her. As much as Amy may have always complained about it, the flirting _was_ important and necessary, thank you very much.

She glanced down at her dress, eyes sparkling. “You remember.”

“Not easy to forget that dress,” he murmured, raking his eyes over her figure. He did so love her dressed up. Though, he also quite loved her dressed _down_ too. He just loved her in anything, really.

She was indeed drop-dead-on-your-face-breath-stealing-heart-stopping stunning. The gown clung to all her curves (as everything she ever wore always did, he had a feeling she’d be able to make a _potato sack_ flattering). Her corset did more than help with the curves, it especially did wonders to her décolletage. Even the ridiculous poofy things on her shoulders looked breathtaking on her. Considering how _silly_ they really were, that says something.

Overall, River song in a dress like that was just unlawful. No, it really was illegal. In four civilisations so far.

“The TARDIS appeared just after you left. No time for changing. I thought you’d just forgotten something,” it was her turn to eye him up and down, “though from your point of view you clearly dropped me off a long time ago.”

“ _Sure_ ,” he rolled his eyes, “any excuse to stay dolled up longer.”

“I do recall you quite liked it.”

“So it seems, you’re indulging me.”

“What’s the occasion?” River opened her purse and peered into it, no doubt looking for her blue book, “Diaries first?”

“Later.”

She looked up in surprise. Before she had time to register, too quick for even her reflexes, the Doctor had scooped her up in his arms and was spinning her in a circle. She yelped, dropping her purse in the shock. Burying a laugh into his neck, she clung to him tightly even as her feet fell softly back to the solid ground.

“What’s got you so oddly bubbly?” She smiled as he dropped a kiss to her jaw.

“You mad woman,” he mumbled, breath hot against her skin before leaning back and bopping her on the nose. “Unbelievable. Always another surprise hidden somewhere in your bodice.” His fingers ran up the sides of the embroidered fabric covering her waist and she bit her lip, breathing unsteady.

“I think you’ll find the term is up your sleeve.”

“But you’re not wearing any.”

“What do you call these?”

“Pompoms.” He frowned with distaste, picking at the frilly puffed up fabric on her shoulders. She swatted his hand away with a fond turn of her eyes.

“Sweetie, I’m flattered that you’re finally admitting my superior ability to be mysterious. But what exactly have I surprised you with this time?”

Sliding his hands up her arms he pulled them down from behind his neck and took her hands in his. He led her across the platform and down the stairs he had come up earlier. Letting go of her hands he reached behind the steps to retrieve her book that he had left there.

“Do you recognise this?”

River visibly flinched, fear flashing in her eyes before she quickly masked it.

“The TARDIS wouldn’t… she would never let you find that…” She reached out as if to take it from him before hesitating and withdrawing her hand. “Unless you know.”

“Interesting, isn’t it?”

River didn’t say anything, her eyes glued to him, watching and waiting. He knew she wasn’t going to give anything away. If he wanted answers, he’d have to ask for them.

“When did you write it?”

She swallowed, still trying to ascertain how much he knew and how much it was safe to reveal.

“Clearly after I knew your name.”

“Yes, great topic. Let’s talk about that. What part of do not breathe a word to anyone didn’t you understand?”

“I didn’t breathe a word to anyone. I wrote it in a book.”

“Yes, over and over and over again.” The Doctor flicked through the pages for emphasis, holding it under her nose. River didn’t glance down, firmly keeping his gaze. “I’ve not yet had the chance to count just how many times, but I will.”

“I was careful, you know.” River cried, gesturing around them indignantly. “I wrote that, here. Every word in there was written down within these walls. That book has never once left those doors.” Her arm jerked in the direction of the TARDIS doors, gaze piercing and daring him to rebuke her.

The Doctor sighed, deciding it was best to backpedal. He’d clearly offended her by questioning the integrity of her vow to secrecy. He knew from experience an insulted River was an uncooperative River. They could return to the discussion of his name later once he had the information he wanted.

“Why did you write it?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

“No, that’s why I asked.”

“So that you would have proof,” she answered gently, all annoyance dissipated from her eyes. “I know you sweetie. The chances of you ever truly believing you saved them and didn’t kill them all are very slim. I knew that a time would come when you needed the confirmation. I wrote it for _you_.”

The Doctor’s hearts swelled at the raw emotion in her voice – the utter devotion, suffocating him.

“How?” he cleared his throat, “How did you know when I didn’t?”

She smiled tenderly, caressing his cheek. There was a teasing spark to her eyes.

“I pay more attention than you do. And I wasn’t intertwined. It’s easier when you’ve got an objective eye. I came across it once, in here,” she tapped his forehead, “when you were sleeping. Just a glimpse of you making the choice _not_ to use the Moment. So far hidden you never even knew it was there.”

“I forgot, more than once.”

“I know.”

“You shouldn’t be snooping through my memories while I’m sleeping.” The Doctor’s gaze was reprimanding. River shrugged, unapologetic.

“I was young then. Only recently imprisoned, did things I wasn’t supposed to. Didn’t quite understand spoilers yet.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “You said you wrote it after you knew my name.”

“Yes, that’s when I _wrote_ it. I had to come up with the content first. This took me decades.” She took his hand in hers, fingers interlaced, and gently tugged him, an invitation to walk with her. He accepted it. “I only saw a glimpse in your mind. But it was enough to make me curious, wonder if what you’d told me about the Time War, if what you believed to be real, really was. And I hoped – for your sake – that it wasn’t. So I started researching. It became a little project, the secrecy just made it all the more fun. I’d sneak on here when I needed to, she always ensured you didn’t know.”

“Where are we going?”

Her smile was nothing short of smug. “I needed somewhere to accumulate my findings and write the book.”

She led him weaving down corridors and hallways, twisting and turning in pursuit of a place only she knew. A ways into their journey the Doctor realised he had been holding his breath since the moment he stepped out the console. Despite trying, he couldn’t manage to exhale, too anxious about what River might have found.

His hand tightened around River’s and she shot him an encouraging smile.

“Nearly there, sweetie.”

They came to a halt in front of a plain cement wall. River trailed her free hand over it, turning a tender gaze to him.

“I found little bits and pieces of information,” as she explained creases in the shape of a door began to appear in the cement, “scattered through all the corners of the universes. They fit together like a puzzle. Yes, some of it is conjecture.” She tapped the manuscript clutched possessively to his chest, smirking haughtily. “But it’s still right.”

There was no handle to the door. To open it River merely placed her palm flat against the cement and pushed, it swung away from her with ease.

For the second time that day the Doctor felt his hearts stop. Every inch of the room seemed to be utilised, each wall was covered with large pictures, sections of parchment or notes she had written. Tables were cluttered with more files, artefacts, stacks of notes. Situated in the middle of the floor was a large escritoire littered with writing instruments and spare paper – some blank, some covered in her elegant hand and others crumpled and chucked to the side.

He spun around to face River who was standing in the doorway watching him, and discovered that at some point in time he had let go of her hand and entered the room without his awareness.

The Doctor wasn’t sure what expression was on his face, he’d thought he must just look shocked or in awe. Judging by the way she was in front of him in a second, palm gingerly pressed to his cheek and brows furrowed, it was actually one that caused concern.

“What’s the matter?”

“Am I dreaming? Be honest.”

She chuckled warmly, stretching onto her toes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. As she leant back she pinched him, sending a bolt of pain shooting through his arm.

“Ow! It is possible to not be so vicious, you know!”

“Now you know you’re awake, don’t you?” She pat the spot where she had abused him, appeasing.

He wasn’t in any mood to continue with pointless banter so he let it drop. Inhaling slowly, he turned to survey the room again. His gaze was drawn to a familiar painting on the far wall and he walked towards it. This one was just a photo of the original, a two dimensional copy.

“Gallifrey Falls No More,” her voice was low and the Doctor glanced sideways as she came to stand beside him. “That was one of the first references I found. I thought it was conclusive enough for me to keep looking.”

“How did you know,” he asked, wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her near, “that it was all one title?”

“As opposed to two separate labels? No More and Gallifrey Falls.” She grinned up at him, a familiar and teasing smile. “I worked it out.”

“Why English?”

His sudden change in questioning caught of her off guard, she blinked. “Huh?”

“The book,” he answered, angling away from the painting to face her properly, “you wrote it in English. Why?”

“You mean why didn’t I write it in Gallifreyan? Because however well I might know Gallifreyan it is never going to be my mother tongue. You’ve seen how thick that is.” She touched the manuscript, her fingers trailing over the leather cover. “If I’d have written it in Gallifreyan it would have taken twice as long. It was a simple case of convenience, English comes naturally to me.”

“But Gallifreyan is safer, only you and I can read it. You put my name in here, anyone can read that.”

“Who, exactly?” Her brows were arched, challenging.

“I don’t know, someone.”

“Unless you plan on showing it to somebody or taking it out of the TARDIS, no one is going to read it. She’s queen of hide and seek. You only just found it, remember? If you’d prefer it in Gallifreyan, feel free to translate it yourself and burn the original.”

The Doctor frowned, holding the book out in front of him, staring at it. The amount of time, effort and _love_ she had put into making the object that was in his hands – like he could even consider doing anything to destroy it.

“No, I could never do that. River, you spent so much time doing all this, and then you put my name in it, ensuring that none of your work would ever be seen by anyone else.”

“What part of _I did it for you_ don’t you get? I never intended on anyone else reading it, whether your name was in it or not. I hardly need recognition. You don’t want it to become common knowledge that the Time Lords are still alive, do you?”

“Well no, all hell would break loose.”

“Exactly. Therefore, there is no one else in the universe who needs to read that.”

“What about if Gallifrey comes back?”

“ _Doctor_ ,” her tone, the firm set of her mouth and stern gaze all warned him to stay away from that line of thought. As far as River was concerned, the last thing either of them needed was for all the Doctor’s hopes and dreams to be crushed if Gallifrey couldn’t be brought back, because he was foolish enough to raise his expectations.

“What _if_.”

“In that case they’ll probably write their own history books on the Time War. Not to mention, your name wouldn’t be a secret anymore anyway. Plenty of people on Gallifrey know it.”

“Let’s not think about that. So,” he stared down at the book clutched in his hands, “what did you find?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” She walked to the opposite side of the room to a table cluttered with fragments of parchment and encyclopaedias. “In C’Nione they have a myth, folklore among the people, about what happened to Gallifrey.”

“Yes, I know,” he grumbled, remembering how irritated their fanciful theory had made him when he had first heard it, two regenerations ago and fresh from the Time War. “It’s—” he blinked, eyes wide, “It’s not entirely false.”

“Exactly. And on Meltraz 3 I stumbled across a madman. Not you, for once. This one was proper mad, had visions and everything. So much so, nobody in town ever believed a word that came out his mouth.”

“But you did.”

“In my opinion he was just misunderstood. This is what he had to say.” She handed him a faded scroll, taking the book on the Time War from his hands and placing it on her writing desk.

For the most part the scroll was full of gibberish and disconnected sentences. The Doctor understood why the people would easily pass it off as incoherent writings of a madman.

Over the years he’d come to the conclusion that those who society deemed insane were often some of the wisest. It was situations like this that proved his postulation. Hidden within the ramblings were fragments of notions and ideas that to anyone who didn’t know what really happened would seem highly fanciful.

When he had finished reading the Doctor turned his attention to River, leaning with folded arms against her writing desk, watching him silently. He held her gaze for a moment before glancing around the organised chaos surrounding them.

“You really put a lot of effort into this, didn’t you?”

River smiled coyly, picking at the embroidery on her waist. “I take my tasks seriously.”

The Doctor knew the conversation was about to take a turn long before she next spoke. The predatory smirk and wicked gleam that appeared in her eyes screamed at him to run far away. And hide. Definitely hide.

Always too quick for him, before he had the chance to run for cover, she pounced.

“I spoke to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, you know. The first. Very enlightening.” His jaw dropped as she stepped into his personal space, even her breath fanning his face felt full of mischief. “Unlike you, she didn’t forget about her spouse.”

He gulped, hands rubbing together anxiously, face ashen. “I—then—you must know, that wasn’t me. That was Sandshoes.”

“Oh, so Sandshoes wasn’t you once?”

“Yes, but. He’s not married to you.” He tittered, offering a pathetic excuse of an appeasing smile.

An agonisingly tense and prolonged silence passed, on the Doctor’s part, while River scrutinised him with what he found to be an ominously unreadable gaze. Finally she burst into a fit of laughter, and that was when it dawned on the Doctor that she was one hundred percent messing with him.

“You’re evil.”

“And take pride in it.” She laughed some more, grinned, and tapped the side of his face. “You’re so adorable. Bless. Actually thinking I’m jealous of the bloody queen who never even got to shag you.”

“Oi!”

“Oh, she did?”

He shrieked, flailing. “No! Just, _that word_.”

“How did I marry such a prude?” she asked herself, sighing forlornly and staring at the ceiling.

“I wasn’t much of a husband, anyway. I didn’t even visit her once after the wedding, other than when I ran into her… before I married her.” The Doctor frowned. That was time travel for you.

“You can’t blame yourself for that. You never remembered you married her. Oh, what am I saying? You wouldn’t have visited her even if you did remember.”

“But then again,” he gestured animatedly, his tone indignant, “she was a pretty horrible wife. She ordered my head to be cut off. Nice wives don’t order their husband’s beheading regardless of how many decades it is since they’ve seen him.”

“Oh,” River scratched her head sheepishly, but the smirk on her rose coloured lips conferred she was anything but contrite, “I’m afraid that might be my fault. I may have accidentally on purpose informed her I was married to you. She didn’t take well to finding out you were a polygamist.”

The Doctor blinked, wide-eyed, before bestowing her with an unimpressed frown and sighing in a long-suffering manner. “I was nearly beheaded because you needed to gloat.”

River shrugged. He rolled his eyes and heaved another sigh before smiling gently at her.

“Thank you.”

Her brow furrowed. “For making Liz hate you?”

“ _No—_ but really, I think this just proves you were jealous.”

“It’s not jealousy,” River murmured, stepping even closer, the full-skirt of her gown crumpled against his legs. She straightened his bowtie with her fingertips, her palms trailed down his chest as she smoothed his lapels. Catching his gaze she smiled crookedly. “It’s called being possessive of your man.”

“And that you certainly are,” he chuckled, laying a hand on her waist as he inclined his head in a circular motion, pointing to their surroundings. He teased the ringlets framing her face with his free hand. “I meant, thank you… for this.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

“But I _am_.”

“I am a pretty amazing wife, aren’t I? Liz never would have done anything like this for you.”

The Doctor groaned, hand tightening around the stiffly embroidered fabric of her bodice. “Can we please stop talking about Elizabeth?”

She grinned, tongue in cheek. “If you insist. Though I don’t know what else we’ll have to speak about.”

“I’m trying to be serious here.”

River sobered. “And I maintain you have nothing to thank me for.”

The Doctor knew he was never going to win with words. So he pulled her in for a tender kiss, leaving the embrace to convey his gratitude. As he pulled away he began pecking the contour of her face, lips brushing against her jaw, cheeks and down her neck.

Each kiss fragmented his sentences as he spoke, “Thank you. No buts. Just shut up and take it.”

“It was my pleasure,” River murmured breathlessly, smiling up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Always, my love.”

“Will you help me look for it?”

“Sweetie…” she exhaled sadly, “yes you saved them. But you may never be able to find them. Don’t get your hopes up.”

He seemed to mull over her words for a few moments, feigned for her own benefit she was certain.

“But will you help me?”

She sighed again, smiling as her gaze dropped to his bowtie while she straightened it.

“Of course, my love.” She stepped away from him, running a palm down her bodice. “First, I need to change. I can’t go looking for a planet in a Victorian ball gown.”

Taking the History of the Time War from the desk she pressed it into his arms. “While I do that, why don’t you look over everything and have a read. Maybe you’ll find something. There are notes with every item so you should be able to understand their relevance. But if you have any questions just come find me. Take as long as you need.”

His voice halted her as she was halfway out the door. She spun around to find him watching her with furrowed brows.

“You don’t mind? It is your birthday. I feel rotten not taking you somewhere to celebrate.”

“You already did, and it was wonderful. I’m perfectly capable of entertaining myself in your unlimited supply of rooms. It’s a damn sight better than what I’d be doing at Stormcage. Though that’s not to say terrorising the guards isn’t fun.”


End file.
